


Let The Sunshine In

by babyrubysoho



Series: Free Love [2]
Category: Big Bang (Band), GTOP (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hippies, M/M, Protests, Sassy Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24716437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyrubysoho/pseuds/babyrubysoho
Summary: It took good-boy Seunghyun less than a day to fall for hippie drifter Jiyong. But can his conservative small-town upbringing handle Jiyong's charms beyond 1969's Summer of Love?(Sequel toSummer of '69oneshot.)
Relationships: Choi Seunghyun | T.O.P./Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon
Series: Free Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779583
Comments: 22
Kudos: 40





	Let The Sunshine In

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct follow-on to my other hippie oneshot. Given that it was pretty much a PWP it's not strictly necessary to read that one first, but I do recommend it :)
> 
> Anyway, on with the fluff!

Seunghyun had never wanted a roommate, and he certainly hadn’t expected to acquire one during his rural summer vacation. But here he was, returning for the fall semester with a brand-new ‘friend’ in tow – and he was somehow happier than he’d ever been in his life.

That first meeting, when he’d picked Jiyong up on the side of the road...well, he’d been smitten in a day. He still wasn’t sure how it had happened, and it was almost _because_ of the strength of that bizarre attraction that he’d been doubtful it could last: a wild and crazy fling, a blip to be concealed and treasured in his mind long after normality restored itself – nothing more. And certainly their summer together had been a fantasy; only he fell deeper into it every day he spent with Jiyong.

He’d been pretty nervous the morning after: waking up in the hayloft with Jiyong doing weird naked stretches in the sunshine (‘yoga’, he said it was called), looking so much an irresponsible flower child it seemed impossible he’d done a hard day’s work in his life. Whatever would Seunghyun’s parents make of him?

“Don’t sweat it,” Jiyong told him, tugging on an old pair of Seunghyun’s jeans and tying his hair back in a braid. “Just keep quiet and try not to look like I rocked your world last night.” The older man snorted and led him up to the house.

Seunghyun’s father obviously didn’t think much of Jiyong, but he was used to the shortcomings of summer farmhands, who were mostly students; he’d simply asked if Jiyong knew how to pull his weight and grunted at his bright reply. Seunghyun’s brother was too involved with his new fiancée to care either way. His mother… Well, in theory she oughta disapprove of everything Jiyong was; and she did. But one thing had endeared him to her, and to Seunghyun’s astonishment it was enough to cut through the look of shiftlessness and general lack of forward planning Jiyong exuded: he spoke fluent Korean.

Seunghyun supposed he shouldn’t have been _that_ surprised, but he was – and a little ashamed at not realizing how important this was to her. True, he and his brother were her sons, as much Korean as they were of German descent. But their language skills were shaky, both parents having decided it was in the boys’ best interests to fit in as well as they could with their conservative rural community; and that meant English – no need for anything else. Seunghyun wondered now if his mother regretted this: her family was in another State and so she lived in an entirely Anglophone world. The mixture of expressions on her face when Jiyong ambled up in Seunghyun’s baggy cast-offs, hay still in his hair, and greeted her eagerly in Korean had been a revelation. And so Jiyong was installed in the hayloft for the summer.

“Okay,” said Jiyong, trotting beside him happily, “what do I do?”

“Oh,” replied Seunghyun, giddy with relief that he’d be allowed to stay, “you come with _me_.”

Jiyong quickly learned that summer on a large cattle farm wasn’t a whirlwind of excitement. He was ecstatic about getting to ride a horse - ‘commune with the animals’, as he put it – but less so once he understood exactly what the two of them would be doing every day: climb down from the hayloft, grab some breakfast – Seunghyun’s family was appalled at the new employee’s vegetarianism – then tack up and ride the endless fields. Fence busted? Fix it. Cow missing? Then one hour, five hours, nine, you gotta find the damn cow. Jiyong sighed, yawned, and rode, teaching Seunghyun conversational Korean as they went.

There were compensations, as Seunghyun was delighted to show him. They made out in some beautiful countryside, horses tied a way off in the trees, and Jiyong’s trippy nature-loving side reveled in that. Once the long evenings drew in they’d retreat to the stable for the night and learn to satisfy each other in between arguing: Jiyong was a dippy kid and his life path was still a mystery to the older man. Neither of them was afraid to be frank about the other’s dumb opinions, so conflict was frequent. Still, by the time September arrived Seunghyun was besotted and Jiyong seemed content enough. There was no argument when the older man suggested he accompany him back to campus.

* * *

As Seunghyun had predicted, Jiyong in a normal apartment was something of a nightmare to live with – though it panned out in quite a different way to what he’d imagined.

“Hang your clothes up!” exclaimed Jiyong, surveying the small apartment in horror at the condition to which Seunghyun had reduced it within a day of being back. “ _Jeez_!” Seunghyun just looked at him in astonishment, sandwich raised halfway to his mouth. The boy sighed, rolled up the sleeves on another of his borrowed shirts, and waded in. It was then the older man learned that, contrary to his entire understanding of hippie living and against all reason, Jiyong was a neat freak.

It wasn’t too bad, Seunghyun acknowledged once he was over his surprise, even though it _did_ sometimes feel like he’d gained a housewife instead of a roommate with benefits. Were all queer guys like this? He’d never been too picky about the state of his place: it wasn’t actually dirty and he knew where everything was; for a bachelor anything more seemed unnecessary, and none of the girls he’d brought back in the past had said anything. But he had to admit it looked better tidy. Jiyong folded his clothes, piled his textbooks neatly, dusted – and nagged to high heaven.

“Would it _kill_ you to take a broom to the place?” the younger man inquired in exasperation.

“Maybe,” said Seunghyun stubbornly. Jiyong slid both arms round his waist and twinkled up at him. Seunghyun caved – who wouldn’t? And Jiyong rewarded him amply.

Seunghyun went back to class the following week, part reluctant – it was a wrench to leave their love-nest, now with crisp clean sheets and a beautiful man between them – and slightly relieved: it was nice to return to calm and logic and sweet _predictability_.

“You’ll be here when I get back, right?” he asked on the Monday. Something about Jiyong made him seem like smoke, as if he could drift away and out of Seunghyun’s life at any minute. From what he knew of the younger man’s history that wasn’t too far off the mark.

“I mean, maybe,” said Jiyong. Seunghyun stared at him. Jiyong looked puzzled for a second, then giggled. “I meant I might go into town: get some groceries, scope out how many places are gonna be me-friendly.”

“Oh!”

“Silly,” Jiyong murmured. He stood on tiptoe and brushed his mouth across Seunghyun’s. The bigger man breathed in the eternal scent of flowers; Jiyong was still laughing at him. “There’ll be more when you get home,” he promised. Seunghyun nodded, manned up and left.

On the Tuesday he asked: “So what _are_ you gonna do all day? You’ll go stir-crazy in here with nothing but bovine anatomy books to amuse you.”

“Get a job,” Jiyong told him, with more decisiveness than Seunghyun had expected. “Gotta keep saving, haven’t I.”

“Meet me at lunch, then!” Seunghyun was happy to hear it, if the money was for what he thought. He approved of Jiyong’s dream wholeheartedly. “I’ll take you to see the Art department.” Jiyong flicked him a peace sign and padded off naked to take a bath. Seunghyun’s gaze followed him longingly, but he manned up and left.

On the Wednesday...well. On the Wednesday Seunghyun played hooky and stayed in bed.

* * *

When Jiyong finally got dressed, ventured out and began to pick up some jobs Seunghyun was pleased; not because he minded paying for the younger man or ‘cos he badly needed help with the rent – he didn’t – but because it meant Jiyong could vent some of his anal-retentive tidiness on other people’s pots and pans and floors for a change. And it was good for him to get out of the house. Seunghyun did worry about that, especially on weekdays when he was gone for classes and training sessions: he still wasn’t sure of Jiyong’s boredom threshold, after all. It was his greatest fear that first month – one he never put into words, but there it was – that he’d come back from campus one day and Jiyong would be _gone_. Working gave Jiyong something to do, helped him get in touch with people more like himself, and allowed him to keep saving for his art school dream. Seunghyun was doing his own research on how to achieve that, but in the meantime the money would help solve a whole heap of potential problems.

The day after Jiyong got his first paycheck Seunghyun realized it was also gonna create some. He opened the apartment door after class, tired and arms heavy with kit bag and books, and found the place full of fall light and color. And paint, and paint, and paint.

“...So you went shopping, huh,” he managed, gawping around the room. Jiyong looked up from his position on the rag rug and grinned, newspaper under his elbows and skin streaked with pigment. He’d tied his hair back but his face hadn’t been so lucky – he looked like a kid who’d botched his Native American halloween costume.

“Oh, man,” said Jiyong, his soft voice warm and excited, “I haven’t done this in so long!”

“I guess!” Seunghyun stared around some more: Jiyong had painted dozens of large sheets of paper, bright abstract figures and flowers and scrawling symbols, and hung them up all round the place. The older man couldn’t smell oils so he must be using acrylic, he figured; but either way the tidiness Jiyong had forced on him for the last month had been obliterated.

“Check it out,” Jiyong told him, and showed him his scruffy sneakers: they were covered in neatly painted daisies. With some horror Seunghyun wondered what else Jiyong had been inspired to decorate: were his best brogues safe?! He rushed to check and the smaller man laughed at him. “I didn’t touch your preppy shit, baby – not yet!” Seunghyun rounded on him, about to give him a _very pointed_ warning, but Jiyong was already on his knees, eyes shining bright and small face glowing beneath the smudges of color. “Come down here,” Jiyong ordered him, one paint-spattered hand grasping his shirt. Seunghyun dropped his books and obeyed.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Jiyong to fit in with campus life once Seunghyun brought him there and left him to his own devices, and the older man wasn’t surprised when his new roommate immediately gravitated to the Flower Power contingent – the ones who made the place look untidy with their long hair and cheesecloth and politics. Much to Seunghyun’s chagrin, almost the first thing Jiyong did there was join a sit-in.

“You’re not even a student yet!” Seunghyun complained when Jiyong got home the next night, exhilarated and brandishing his guitar. He’d seen them over at the Admin building, singing and chanting and disrupting the efficient running of the university. He’d recognized Jiyong’s unique face easily – Seunghyun could always spot him, even at a distance – and had kept a wide berth. His own classmates were rightly scathing of the whole thing and it didn’t exactly seem the right time to introduce them to Jiyong.

“So?” retorted Jiyong, collapsing on the bed and immediately slinking out of his shorts. Sometimes, thought Seunghyun, he made it _very_ hard to focus. “It was important. There were all sorts of people there, making a stand.”

“And what was that in aid of?” Seunghyun came to sit beside him, offered him a smoke. Jiyong fondly touched his wrist as he lit it for him.

“Civil rights,” the boy informed him, his pretty voice languid but eyes gleaming. For a moment Seunghyun was distracted by his lips as he exhaled smoke. Jiyong tapped him sharply with one foot. “You know how tough the admission policies are on minorities in the Science departments here?” As a matter of fact Seunghyun sorta did know, ‘cos it wasn’t like Asian-Americans had it easy – his own admissions interview for the Vet school had been extremely daunting. But he didn’t think sitting around reciting poetry and irritating the college officials would have much effect on the situation.

“So, you guys achieve anything?” he inquired. Jiyong shrugged easily.

“They’ve not changed their policy yet, if that’s what you mean. You think the Establishment is so easy to rattle?”

“Then what was the point?” Surely effecting change was much better done through reasoned and respectable channels, not this – well, whatever it was these hippies did. Jiyong gave him a pitying look but passed him the cigarette and smiled.

“Still a square, huh, baby.” He draped his bare legs across Seunghyun’s. “Even if you can’t get people to change right away it’s still important to be heard. If we don’t persist in speaking up these problems’ll just get swept under the rug. What we do...well, people can disapprove of us, they can say we’re a pain in the ass and call Security. But they can’t forget the message.”

“...You really do mean what you’re saying,” said Seunghyun, affectionate in spite of himself. Jiyong’s bullshit was just that – but it was touching because he was so sincere. It made his beautiful face even more radiant. The younger man shuffled over and leaned his head on Seunghyun’s shoulder, not an ounce of resentment in him at his roommate’s doubtful line of questioning.

“Anyway,” he said, “it wasn’t a waste of time! I met an Art professor – he seems an A-okay guy. Told me to bring my portfolio round sometime and if it’s any good he’ll let me know about scholarships and stuff.”

“Lucky!” agreed Seunghyun, pleased.

“Mm. Think he liked me.” Jiyong smiled up at him, took the cigarette away and kissed him, and Seunghyun couldn’t deny that his methods could be very persuasive indeed. Perhaps one day Jiyong _could_ make a difference to his many causes – through sheer charm, if nothing else.

* * *

Having lived with his new roommate for a few months Seunghyun concluded there were only two things Jiyong could manage to commit to: activism of the most inconvenient kind (Seunghyun even had to venture down to the local police precinct once and extract his rash young friend from among a group of protesters who’d been rounded up en masse); and, to his great relief, himself. Jiyong never said anything particularly sappy, but he stuck around, and Seunghyun was as grateful for his simple presence as he was for his domestic skills – at least, when he felt like displaying them.

Jiyong _would_ cook, but only hippie stuff: pulses and grains, soup. Seunghyun wasn’t averse to some health food but a man couldn’t live on lentils alone. At length Jiyong, willing to please, extended his repertoire to eggs and toast and baked potatoes – but he drew the line at meat. Seunghyun was undeterred: he did his own grocery shopping after class and would sneak a sausage or some bacon, maybe a chop onto his own plate while Jiyong was serving up. The boy would wrinkle his nose in disapproval and sometimes that led to some rather lively dinner conversation – but it didn’t put him off enough to keep him from kissing Seunghyun after.

As often as not Jiyong would serve meals picnic style, lolling like a Roman aristocrat on the living-room carpet and taking neat bites off his fork while Seunghyun tried to make himself comfortable without the civilized apparatus of table and chair. Most of the time this was ‘cos the table was covered with paint and half-finished art pieces for Jiyong’s portfolio. Seunghyun thought they were wonderful; still, he’d prefer that they were elsewhere at mealtimes.

“It’s better like this,” Jiyong insisted when he complained. “More natural – like how we used to be.”

“Oh, whatever!” Seunghyun rubbed his crossed legs: he was getting pins and needles.

“More to the point,” said Jiyong, swallowing the last of his lemonade, “it’s easier to do _this_.” And he reached across, plucked Seunghyun’s empty plate from his hands, then pulled the older man down on top of him.

“Uh-huh,” replied Seunghyun, unable to suppress his grin or the thrill that went through him as Jiyong arched up against him. “That’s sure why the kitchen table was invented – to avoid fornication!” He kissed the younger man, who’d started laughing.

“Ahh...you complaining?” Jiyong took a quick breath and returned the kiss, sugar still on his lips; he was quite delicious.

“No,” admitted Seunghyun.

Around a month after that Seunghyun began to wonder if Jiyong wasn’t leaning a bit too much into his social reform activities – or just his social ones. It wasn’t like it was a _problem_ – Seunghyun had his own friends and work to be getting on with. And the older man had never been one to worry unnecessarily; he liked to think of himself as a reasonably easy-going person, conservative or not. Lately, though, he was at it all the time: when was Jiyong coming home? Would he be out all night again? Was he safe? What was he doing? There were only so many marches and sit-ins one could go to, surely.

“There’s a lot happening in the city,” Jiyong assured him, stacking his anti-fur signs in a canvas bag and slipping on his sneakers. “There’s some kinda demo almost every day. Why don’t you come?”

“Got a farm visit. Anyway, it’s hardly my scene.”

“You don’t have a scene,” said the boy pertly. “But there’s a party after so I might not make it back ‘til tomorrow. Eat something healthy, huh?” Seunghyun sighed but pulled him over and kissed him goodbye ‘til he was breathless – a reminder that he had something good to come home to. Then Jiyong was off with a wave and a grin. The bigger man shook his head and pointedly got on with his day. Another all-nighter...hmm. He didn’t care for it, and he knew why: lately he’d been wondering if Jiyong would try to exercise his free love beliefs with people other than himself – that was the hippie way, wasn’t it? So far Jiyong seemed content to stay within the bounds of...whatever this was that they had; but how long could that last?

“If you’re nervous,” said Jiyong, laughing at him when Seunghyun asked again what he did when he stayed out all night, “come to one of the gatherings and see!”

“All right,” retorted Seunghyun with what he hoped didn’t sound like jealousy, “I will!” Jiyong shot him a vaguely startled look; then he grinned.

They took the bus to the next town over – one of Jiyong’s girlfriends was having a poetry slam. Seunghyun was quite pleased, it sounded terribly boring: he’d far rather his lover spent his nights being edified rather than running wild.

“I know you country bumpkins drive plastered,” Jiyong told Seunghyun when he complained about the bus. “But there’s no way in hell you’ll be in any condition to get behind the wheel by the time we let out.” The old vehicle rattled over another pothole and Seunghyun suppressed a retch of nausea.

“…What d’you mean?!”

“Wait and see,” said Jiyong, lolling against him. “You’re gonna have the _best_ time.”

They took the stairs to the fifth-floor apartment where Jiyong’s friend lived; the elevator was broken. As they approached the place Seunghyun began to see telltale signs of the Boho set: a wilted flower, a peace sign sprayed on the stairwell wall, the smell of incense. Jiyong led him up to the door, threw another pitying glance at his neat slacks and well-pressed shirt, then without knocking pushed the door open and walked inside.

As soon as he entered the hall Seunghyun waved goodbye to his ideas of serene, subdued poetry readings: the apartment was jammed with people of all ages, sexes, races; the air was heavy with hash smoke and liquor fumes, and a record player blared out what Jiyong told him was Scott McKenzie’s ‘San Francisco’. Students were chatting and smoking on the hallway floor, girls in miniskirts and Twiggy false lashes were flirting with what appeared to be a folk band in the kitchen, while older beardy guys who Seunghyun assumed were professors held court to groups of young men and women draped over the furniture in the living room. Seunghyun didn’t want to think about what might be happening in the bedroom.

“Jiji, baby!” called someone with a foreign accent – French, Seunghyun thought – and a girl in flares and a peasant shirt emerged from the crush to take Jiyong by the hand and kiss him. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, with an easy smile for Seunghyun; she was a darker version of Jiyong, same silky hair, headband, pecan-color skin. Jiyong thought about this.

“Roommates,” he said, just as Seunghyun was beginning to worry. The woman nodded, ignoring the basic social niceties Seunghyun’s female acquaintances would have demanded: his name, his major, what he was doing in her house, etcetera. “Smoke?” asked Jiyong instead. She gave him a crooked grin and the smaller man whipped a joint from his pocket. Seunghyun dutifully extracted a book of matches and lit it for them. This seemed to be all the introduction that was needed: the girl slid an arm through his. Not to be outdone, Jiyong took his other arm; thus pinned, Seunghyun was able to experience his first hippie party in the form of participant observation. “They start the slam yet?” Jiyong asked loudly as the music changed to Jimi Hendrix. The girl – Foxglove, Jiyong said she was called, though Seunghyun didn’t buy that for a second – shrugged and led them into the lounge.

“We got through a few, then it turned into a debate.” She gestured with the spliff at a group of eager discussants passing around a wine bottle. “I guess they’ll start up again eventually.”

“This what you imagined?” inquired Jiyong as the young hostess settled them on a beanbag and wandered off, ostensibly to get drinks.

“Basically,” Seunghyun admitted. Jiyong offered him the joint and he declined with a gesture – they’d be getting high enough off the haze in the air! He peered through the heady smoke to where a few couples – and less traditional groupings – were dancing by the record player. There was an awful lot of _touching_ going on. Seunghyun frowned. “…Unfortunately.” Jiyong blew a raspberry in dismissal and pressed his thigh against the older man’s.

“It’s all happening here, baby: all the new ideas in the world! Just loosen up, soak it in – ahh, gives me goosebumps just being here!” He giggled.

“You’re high,” said Seunghyun reasonably. “Of course it feels like that.”

“Right?” said Jiyong. “Why else would we do it?” He gave Seunghyun a considering look. “I reckon you’ll get it if…” He took a long drag on his joint, then blew the smoke slowly into the other man’s face. Seunghyun spluttered and waved it away, but not before he got a mouthful. “I’d have kissed you,” murmured Jiyong in his ear. “Much better method of transfer; but I’m thinking of your upstanding public image.” For that Seunghyun was profoundly grateful: he’d never kissed a man in public and he wasn’t about to start now. “So to reward me,” continued Jiyong slyly, “you better take a toke – before I jump in your lap right here!” Seunghyun glanced at him: he’d do it, too, the little minx. Jiyong held out the joint.

“All _right_.” Seunghyun took it and inhaled ‘til Jiyong told him he could stop.

After that the party didn’t seem so bad; perhaps that was the grass, and perhaps it was Jiyong, who was delighted with this small adventurous step and was sitting there grinning giddily at him. Drinks appeared from somewhere, which helped even more.

“Absinthe punch!” exclaimed Jiyong. Seunghyun had never had absinthe and didn’t exactly know what it was, only that it smelled of aniseed; he could still taste it on Jiyong’s lips when they got home. It certainly _packed_ a punch. A stream of people drifted up to sit and chat with Jiyong before wafting away again. Seunghyun let all the counterculture nonsense flow across his ears, and the hippies smiled at him because _he_ was smiling; they were such idiots, such cute idiots. At some point Jiyong snaked his way off the beanbag and went to dance, long hair and beads flying and the slim curve of his hips shifting in a way that held Seunghyun rapt; Jiyong seemed to move in slow-motion, as if Seunghyun was dreaming. He found he was mildly enjoying himself.

He was lecturing a middle-aged lady who looked like an anthropologist about the correct way to clean her dog’s teeth when he saw Jiyong talking to an older man. The guy had hair growing past his collar, a dark blonde beard of similar length, and a pipe between his teeth. Jiyong was gesturing excitedly, mouth running a mile a minute and his lovely face glowing. The guy nodded, smiled, looked entranced. This was the general reaction to Jiyong among the hippie crowd, so Seunghyun wasn’t surprised; then, unusually, they shook hands. Such a formal salute looked out of place in this madhouse; perhaps that was why Jiyong followed it up with a hug. The bearded man blinked at suddenly finding Jiyong’s slender body in his arms – Seunghyun knew how it felt, warm and soft and electric – but quickly seemed to realize his good fortune and gave him a bear hug back. Hmm. This was exactly the kind of thing Seunghyun _had_ been imagining at these parties: what man in his right mind wouldn’t try his luck and follow that embrace with something more? But to his relief the guy patted Jiyong on the back, then let go, and Jiyong came tripping blithely back to the beanbag.

“Guess what,” he said, face still alight. To Seunghyun he was luminescent (which might have been the grass again, but to him Jiyong always seemed to shine).

“What?” said Seunghyun, trying not to sulk. Jiyong slid an arm around his waist, which helped.

“That was the Art prof I was talking about, McShay – the one I showed my portfolio. He says…” He took an unsteady breath. “He says they like it! They like my stuff! I can’t get the scholarship ‘til next semester but if I want I can start taking classes _now_.”

“That’s amazing!” Seunghyun pulled him close, wanted to kiss him. Maybe one day he’d be able to without worrying what people thought; for now he just squeezed him tight, stroked the fall of his smooth, straight hair. Jiyong sighed happily.

“This is the best year ever!”

“Course it is,” agreed Seunghyun, Jiyong’s radiance warming him right through. “This was your dream, right?”

“Oh, not just that,” began Jiyong. Then he broke off and flopped back on the beanbag, arms outstretched. “Ahh, who needs words?! Let’s celebrate!” Seunghyun nodded and went to get more drinks, marveling at this new sensation: never had he dreamed seeing someone else happy could feel so good.

* * *

Jiyong began his art lessons, and blossomed. His enjoyment caused Seunghyun great delight, some relief, and a mild amount of aggravation – the apartment grew even fuller of canvases and charcoal and paint, but it was a small price to pay for the comfort of knowing (or at least hoping) Jiyong now had a decent reason to stick around. The only downside was seeing less of him: in addition to spending his days at the Art department, Jiyong had switched his bar and restaurant jobs to evening shifts so he could pay tuition ‘til the scholarship kicked in.

“Sorry we can’t linger, baby,” Jiyong told him regretfully as he slid out of bed and went to clean up before heading out to wash dishes. Seunghyun caught his hand and pulled him in for one more kiss, missing the long evenings of afterglow they’d enjoyed before his lover had become a student.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said gallantly. “Wake me up when you get in – I’ll be ready for you!” Jiyong gave him a wink and disappeared into the bathroom. Seunghyun sighed to himself; but on balance it was worth it.

At least with Jiyong on campus more often they could snatch a little daytime together, when Seunghyun wasn’t on some farm or being dragged to a lunchtime social with his classmates and their co-ed girlfriends. Seunghyun knew Jiyong would be only too happy to join them, if – in his words – ‘all that straight square flirting didn’t make me wanna barf’. The older man supposed his colleagues _were_ pretty preppy, but it was what he was used to; plus they accepted him and his Asian face in their group, so he wasn’t about to complain too loud. Especially with… Seunghyun bit worriedly into his sandwich and stared across the way at Jiyong and his art buddies sprawled out on the grass. Benjamin, one of Seunghyun’s friends, followed his eyeline: there was Jiyong stretched full-length on the turf, long hair floating around him like a mermaid and short-shorts showing off the endless gold of his legs.

“Your roommate’s a kook,” commented Ben. And that was the mildest thing Seunghyun’s colleagues ever said about Jiyong. They’d been introduced, of course: there’d been no option, with Jiyong seeking Seunghyun out on campus whenever he had a moment alone. He was perfectly happy to meet the older man’s friends (though he laughed at them when he and Seunghyun got back home); only Seunghyun wasn’t at all sure his classmates felt the same. He wasn’t embarrassed by Jiyong – of course not! It was just kinda…uncomfortable. Compared to the veterinary students, thought Seunghyun, Jiyong might as well be an alien.

“He’s okay,” he told Ben casually, and as soon as the other man had returned to the group conversation he packed up his things and snuck off to join Jiyong in the sunshine. Jiyong didn’t belong with those stuffed-shirts anyway, thought Seunghyun as the boy beamed up at him. No, this was better.

* * *

Fall passed in reasonable peace, and Seunghyun only fell deeper. As the cold New York winter drew in Jiyong – somewhat to Seunghyun’s relief – gave up his daisy dukes in favor of flared embroidered pants, a wool hat, and a baggy thrift store coat. It was an odd look but at least it didn’t cause Seunghyun’s staid friends to gawk in shocked silence at the sight of so much flesh when Jiyong came to hang out with him on campus. In the apartment, made stuffy by the furnace, it was the same as always: shorts and sometimes not even that, just a long filmy shirt that Jiyong didn’t see the need to wear anything beneath. Seunghyun wasn’t objecting, not hardly: it was lovely to come home from a freezing farm visit and have a warm companion and bed to welcome him. Without the kiss of the sun the boy’s skin quickly changed from gold to a lovely pale cream that seemed to invite the touch of his lips, and tasted as good as it looked.

In spite of this state of contentment, Seunghyun still had wishes he couldn’t ever see being granted. He wished they could get a bigger apartment so he’d have space at the kitchen table to eat breakfast. He wished Jiyong would quit risking arrest at his demonstrations: Seunghyun was scared to even imagine what might happen if his beautiful hippie got thrown in the tank overnight. And he wished…well, sometimes he wished no-one existed in the state of New York but the two of them. It’d make things so much easier.

Jiyong was a demonstrative, affectionate boy. He loved snuggling and cuddling, especially in the winter months, and Seunghyun adored it too – except when Jiyong took it to the streets. Respectable clothing or not, it made no difference when Jiyong rocked up to the campus refectory where Seunghyun was drinking coffee and revising with some of his classmates, and plonked himself down on the bigger man’s knee for a friendly hug. Seunghyun gulped as the veterinary students around them stared with a mix of incomprehension, amusement, and frank hostility.

“Hey,” said Jiyong, not batting an eyelid. He smiled down at Seunghyun. “We’re gonna have an exhibition next semester! I wanna work on something real large-scale and I gotta get started; can I borrow the pickup?” Seunghyun touched his back discreetly – he wasn’t sure Jiyong would even feel it through all the layers but didn’t dare do anything more.

“Sure. Keys’re on the hook in the kitchen. Don’t crash it!” He sounded brusque to himself. Jiyong gave him a quick look, understanding; but his smile dipped a bit. He hopped off the older man’s lap, flashed the other guys a peace sign – clearly to annoy them – and strolled away without saying anything more. Seunghyun sighed.

“It’s not you,” he assured Jiyong that night, “it’s them. They’re a bit...old-fashioned.”

“Hmm.” Jiyong dumped a ladle-full of pasta into his bowl and passed him the cheese thoughtfully. “Unlike you, I suppose.” Seunghyun didn’t really have an answer to that; not one Jiyong would be pleased to hear, anyway.

“Sorry,” he said instead. Jiyong shrugged and began to eat.

“No, I get it. Only you don’t seem to mind when we’re with my friends so I figured you were cool with it.” It was true, Seunghyun didn’t care about showing a bit of physical affection in front of Jiyong’s counterculture crowd, ‘cos they were half of them freaks already. In fact he welcomed it, being able to put his arms around Jiyong or touch his hair: some part of him wanted to show any other hippies who thought his boy looked tasty that Jiyong was already being satisfied. Not that he’d say that to Jiyong in so many words; it was territorial, Seunghyun knew, and he didn’t think the younger man would like that – ‘free love’ and all. He was still frightened of constraining this transitory creature. At least, until Jiyong decided to confuse him even more.

* * *

Jiyong always introduced Seunghyun as ‘my friend’, and the older man was glad: both because he was pleased and proud to have Jiyong’s friendship, and because he was honestly frightened to hear any other words. They hadn’t put a name to it even in the privacy of their bed, what this relationship oughta be called. All Seunghyun knew was that no-one in his circle would bear it if they labeled it anything more. So when, in the early spring of 1970, Jiyong announced at one of his hippie get-togethers: “Hey, I brought my boyfriend!”, Seunghyun was floored.

“Did I say the wrong thing?” the boy asked as Seunghyun hurriedly knocked back a cup of red wine; it’d taken him a while to notice, beaming through the party as usual with his arm crooked into Seunghyun’s. “It just...came out.” He looked a little anxious, but more curious.

“...Why did you say it?” Seunghyun said slowly. It didn’t fit at all with what he’d expected Jiyong to feel, to want. He glanced around: none of the hippies, liberals or intellectuals surrounding them seemed to give a shit, all intent on their booze and grass and vague philosophy.

“It felt right,” Jiyong told him simply. He took Seunghyun’s hand and the bigger man let him. “And I’d like it if you _were_.” Seunghyun stared down at his lovely face, his own cheeks scarlet as he tried to figure out how he felt.

“...I would too.” He swallowed at the weight of the admission; but Jiyong’s features lit up at the sound of it and Seunghyun couldn’t help smiling softly in return. “Only you don’t have to tell _everyone_ you meet. Right?”

“Sure,” said Jiyong easily, and slid his arms round Seunghyun’s waist in the middle of the crowded room, gazing up at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread. “But if they’re smart they’ll know anyway.”

“That’s true.” Seunghyun figured it _was_ : there was no hiding how happy Jiyong made him, after all. Oh, well, why not? If it was safe anyplace, it was safe here. He brushed Jiyong’s hair back with both hands, leaned down and kissed him. He felt Jiyong’s smile widen beneath his lips and the caress of his mouth as he spoke.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Seunghyun made a muffled noise of agreement and was tugged closer. “…Speaking of hard,” began Jiyong with what was definitely a snigger. Seunghyun coughed.

“Wanna go home?” The smaller man merely shifted his hips, pelvis pushing up into him. Seunghyun let out a low groan and glanced around, paranoid, but no-one seemed to have noticed how damn excited just a little pressure could make him. People were drinking, smoking what were certainly illegal substances, yelling over the record player and each other. At the far end of the crowded room a group was congregating and chattering around…what was that playing on the wall, a movie? He stared closer over the top of Jiyong’s head; his hard-on gave a twitch as if it couldn’t decide whether to get even more excited or curl up in embarrassment.

“What?” Jiyong noticed his distraction and turned.

“Ji,” Seunghyun whispered, “for Christ’s sake, that’s a _dirty movie_!” His lover burst out laughing.

“You don’t say.” There were giant images of women moving on the wall, kissing and doing other stuff. Seunghyun knew what stag films were, of course, his fellow students were almost exclusively young men; guys’ nights with liquor and a projector were a thing. But it was always furtive – you didn’t show this stuff in the middle of a mixed party! He wasn’t a prude. Only… “D’you not like it?” asked Jiyong brightly. “It’s an art film – it’s French.”

“Got nothing against…that sort of thing.” Seunghyun went redder. “It’s just a bit…I mean, _here_?”

“Well. I’m glad of that.” The older man raised his eyebrows in inquiry and Jiyong nuzzled against him. “I did a porno once,” Jiyong confided. Seunghyun’s mind went momentarily blank, then filled itself with images that made his dick hard, then shut down in self-defense.

“… _Why_?” he said faintly. Jiyong shrugged, peering up at him.

“The usual: ran outta cash. I was passing through town someplace in California a year or so ago; got flirting with a guy and he introduced me to a guy. Paid me two hundred bucks! So I did my thing for the camera then hopped on a bus in the morning.”

“I mean…but…what if someone sees it?!”

“Lucky them,” said Jiyong. “But I seriously doubt it made the rounds nationwide, they weren’t exactly _Hustler_. Anyway, what reputation do _I_ have to lose?” He pursed his lips. “Unless it’s with you.” A pause. “You care, Seunghyun? You didn’t when I got on my knees the first day we met.” Another picture flashed through Seunghyun’s head as he watched the women on the wall: of other men watching Jiyong in the same way, his perfect figure illuminated in celluloid as he did all the shameless things he’d done with Seunghyun. He felt a pang of dismay, but it was only a moment later that he remembered Jiyong _didn’t_ feel shame. He was braver than that, fearless, and it was one of the things that made Seunghyun respect him as well as want him. How could he judge Jiyong for doing the very same things that had given them so much mutual pleasure? His cock twitched involuntarily.

“…I don’t care,” he gasped, and kissed him. It felt so good, and better that he couldn’t see the screen. Jiyong’s hand snaked between their bodies and squeezed.

“Not such a prude after all!” He sounded breathless – and so pleased. Seunghyun was half relieved and half disappointed when Jiyong’s slim fingers transferred themselves safely to his own and tugged. “C’mon…come with me.”

It wasn’t the easiest thing to disguise his excitement as Jiyong led him through the crowded party and out of the living room – he couldn’t wait to get home and show the younger man just how much he appreciated him. But instead of heading for the door Jiyong shouldered past a group of boys sharing a joint, then swerved into what turned out to be the bathroom. Seunghyun was still blinking when Jiyong yanked the door shut and latched it, and was rendered utterly speechless when one of those clever hands tugged down his zipper and cupped his erection.

“Right here!” said Jiyong, grinning as Seunghyun stumbled backwards against the tub – the bath was full of beer bottles and he almost ended up in it when Jiyong eased his cock out and dropped to his knees to kiss it.

“ _Not_ here!” Seunghyun yelped; he could hear the guys’ stoned chatter outside the door as clearly as if they were standing right next to him. Jiyong just smirked and swallowed him down, and such was his skill that Seunghyun not only got even harder but had to bite his lip to stop himself groaning. Had it excited his lover that much to tell him about making porn?! His hands tangled in Jiyong’s long hair without any instruction from himself as that magnificent tongue went to work. “ _Please_!” he ground out, hoping for a bit of mercy: the smaller man certainly wasn’t taking his time. A burst of laughter sounded outside the door and Seunghyun froze.

“Mmm.” Jiyong let Seunghyun slip slowly from his mouth and got to his feet, bare knees red from the tiles. He propped Seunghyun safely against the bath, then to the older man’s horrified arousal wriggled his shorts down his hips and bent himself over the sink. “Quick, then,” he murmured, with a come-hither glance and a wriggle of his perfect behind. Seunghyun stared with a mixture of disbelief and sheer lust. No, he couldn’t – not in someone else’s bathroom, the only bathroom in the middle of a crowded party. Jiyong, however, seemed to think they could: he fished a condom from his pocket and spread his thighs as far as the denim would allow him. “Put your fingers in,” he instructed, sending a bolt of electricity down Seunghyun’s spine; much like Frankenstein’s monster, Seunghyun’s cock came back to life full-force and he floundered forward to take Jiyong’s beautiful ass in both hands. He marveled at its tactile qualities as he always did: small but smooth and squishable, the texture of firm Jell-O. Jiyong let out a hum of satisfaction.

“Wait,” Seunghyun mumbled, as quietly as he could – the revelers outside were discussing Karl Marx now – “Did you bring any lube?” Jiyong shook his head but didn’t look fazed.

“Eat me out first,” he suggested eagerly. “And we’ll be fine.” A staring contest of approximately three seconds ensued. Then, blushing like a fire truck, Seunghyun obeyed.

Jiyong made the usual erotic sounds, moans and little growls and sighs as the bigger man got him ready; he barely lowered his voice, and all Seunghyun could do was be grateful to whoever had cranked up Fleetwood Mac in the living room. But it seemed the thought of getting caught was no match for Jiyong’s seductive charm. It wasn’t until Seunghyun was breathing shakily and spreading the boy’s buttocks to nudge his cock between them that Jiyong informed him:

“This is…just how I did it with those other guys.”

“…What guys?” said Seunghyun through gritted teeth; he inched inside and Jiyong let slip an indulgent whimper, shifting his hips to ask for more; his pink Mary Quant tshirt rode up to expose the lovely arch of his spine.

“The guys in the movie.” For a long moment Seunghyun gaped down at his back, wondering how someone could be so completely tactless; then a wave of heat washed through him – anger, oh yeah, but mainly _desire_ – and he grabbed a fistful of shiny hair, tugging Jiyong’s head up and thrusting into him before he could think too much on what that said about himself. Jiyong made an even more satisfied noise, and Seunghyun realized there’d been nothing tactless about it: he’d behaved exactly the way Jiyong had wanted. “ _Harder_ ,” panted Jiyong, proving Seunghyun’s point; he was smiling, even as he clung to the sink to stop his knees buckling. Seunghyun grabbed his hip with his free hand and did as he was told, lost in the mind-blowing sensations of Jiyong’s body and wondering if there’d ever come a time when this crazy creature stopped being able to surprise him. Jiyong moaned between his teeth and let one hand come to rest over Seunghyun’s fingers, squeezing affectionately; on balance, Seunghyun hoped that time would never come.

It was too much to ask the same of his body: Seunghyun was right on the edge of an express-train orgasm and was desperately trying to think of a way to keep it furtive when there came a sharp rap on the bathroom door.

“Oi!” called a female voice. “Quit hogging the toilet! …You pass out in there?” it added without much sympathy. Seunghyun tried to formulate any kind of answer and couldn’t – he couldn’t even stop. Instead he clapped a hand over his mouth and came. He could hear Jiyong trying to stifle his own moans in between giggles; the younger man was stroking himself and climaxed just as Seunghyun pulled out, gasping for breath and fumbling for toilet roll. He passed it to Jiyong hurriedly so he could clean up any evidence. Whoever was on the other side of the door was still knocking.

“Fuck!” hissed Seunghyun, stuffing Jiyong back into his shorts so frantically he almost knocked himself out against the sink, and rearranging his own pants. Jiyong struggled upright and started laughing at him; his small face was scarlet and his hair mussed from where Seunghyun had been using it as reins – there was no way in hell you could look at him and mistake what’d just happened in here. He gave Seunghyun an unhurried kiss; then he casually unbolted the door and sashayed through it.

“Sorry,” Seunghyun heard him say, only a little out of breath. “There was a…uh, plumbing incident.” The bigger man slunk out behind him and found two young women wearing the same hippie uniform as Jiyong. As they clocked him they began to whisper at each other behind their hands; Jiyong winked at them and they both started giggling. “C’mon, baby.” Jiyong took his hand and finally led him towards the front door, pausing only to let someone light up the joint that had magically appeared from his pocket.

“…What the hell brought _that_ on?” asked Seunghyun in a daze once they were on the front steps; a gaggle of bohemian types beside them was singing along to a guitar, so he asked again louder. Jiyong blew out a stream of smoke and snaked an arm around his waist. When he smiled it was slow and sweet and wonderfully satisfied. “Was it the…you know, the porn thing?” added Seunghyun, paranoid again. “Not that it wasn’t good! Only…”

“I mean, that was hot,” agreed Jiyong, with a sneaky grope of his behind. “But no. It was ‘cos you’re my _boyfriend_.” Once again Seunghyun experienced the mixed thrill of happiness and risk he’d felt when Jiyong first uttered that word; but Jiyong looked purely content. “I wanted to celebrate,” the boy added, taking another toke.

“Mission accomplished, I think.”

“Right?” said Jiyong smugly. “I like when you show your wild side – such as it is. And now let’s go home and cuddle like old folks.” Seunghyun nodded; sex with this bizarre boy was unparalleled, but he loved his affection even more. “Shift, will ya?” Jiyong requested of the impromptu choir on the steps. “Make way for my man!” The revelers obligingly shuffled along, waving placid goodnights as he linked his fingers with Seunghyun and led him away from the party. He didn’t let go all the way home, and Seunghyun didn’t care. _Boyfriend_ : the more he repeated it to himself the better it sounded.

* * *

So much for Jiyong’s crowd: he and Seunghyun had got it on practically in front of their noses and they hadn’t even blinked. When it came to his own, however, Seunghyun had vastly different intentions about being open and honest.

“It’s not you,” he reminded Jiyong, having dropped his hand as soon as they entered the campus cafeteria where the veterinary students were lunching. “It’s them.” Benjamin and the others greeted Jiyong and his endless tattooed legs with the usual suspicion, then began calling Seunghyun a teacher’s pet for acing his lab test.

“I know,” said Jiyong later when they were alone in a field on the college farm. Seunghyun was stroking his hair while the smaller man made a daisy chain, the grass cool and fragrant against their limbs. “They’re all squares.” He frowned to himself. “And so are you. I know you’re different,” he added, leaning across for a kiss before applying himself to his flower arranging. A minute later he said quietly: “Only…I wonder how much.” Seunghyun pulled him close, squeezed him tight, had the usual feeling of never wanting to let go.

“This much.”

“Okay,” whispered Jiyong. There was no more need for talking.

* * *

“Baby,” said Jiyong in a lazy voice during May, “what’re you planning to do once you graduate?” Come the end of summer Seunghyun would be a qualified vet. The older man glanced at him; they were lolling side by side on the bed, Jiyong in his usual flimsy shirt with his smooth legs draped across Seunghyun’s. He was smiling, but there was something in his expression that told Seunghyun this might be a serious conversation. He trailed his hand fondly along Jiyong’s calf.

“I’ll have to do junior work for a few years,” he explained. “I won’t be experienced or solvent enough to have my own practice. I expect I’ll head back to Fallsburg or some other town near the farm and look for a locum position there; my folks have got a few contacts, oughta be able to get a trial at least.” He’d always figured he would do that; it seemed the simplest way, and he could help out on the farm if they needed him. There was a pause.

“...I’m scared,” confessed Jiyong softly. Seunghyun turned to stare at him: Jiyong wasn’t afraid of _anything_.

“Why?!” He took the younger man’s hand and Jiyong twined their fingers together.

“I want to go with you.” Jiyong said it so simply, the way he said everything, with no hint of embarrassment or fear of being rejected. “I mean follow you. After I finish my course.” Seunghyun’s heart skipped a happy beat and he felt himself beam. He hadn’t been able to imagine going anywhere without Jiyong anymore – although, to be fair, Seunghyun was pretty short on imagination in general. He hadn’t even considered the idea that the younger man might not join him after his own studies were done; or, if he had, it would have been Jiyong who declined and moved on, not him! Jiyong caught his expression and squeezed his hand, shifting closer.

“Of course you’re coming with me!” Seunghyun told him. “As long as _you_ want to.” They could get an apartment like they had now, eventually a house in the country; it’d be natural for them to share a place, both appearing to be bachelors, both from the same ethnic background. Jiyong could have a studio room all of his own and go up to the city to sell his work, get a few odd jobs ‘til his art took off. Wasn’t that a perfect lifestyle for a painterly hippie? And why did Jiyong still look anxious? “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s just...well. Have you ever thought of getting a city position? NYC’s full of pets. Maybe you could work for the ASPCA, live in the suburbs!” Seunghyun blinked; the idea had literally never crossed his mind. “I love the countryside,” continued Jiyong. “It’s a trip, it’s the most _real_ place I’ve ever been.” He smiled, reminding Seunghyun of the summer they’d spent riding and fucking last year. “But since we moved up here I’ve been so in the loop: artists and activists and teachers. I feel like I’m flourishing – blooming, almost.”

“Uh-huh.” This was on the verge of typical Jiyong ramble-speak. Jiyong sighed.

“And I’m worried...if I bury myself in a small town right after I finish school I might lose it. Oh, not ‘cos of _you_ , baby, but...”

“...You need people around you,” said Seunghyun slowly, unsure how to feel but aware Jiyong had a point. “People like you; galleries and intellectuals and firebrands. That’s what you mean, right?”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Jiyong. Seunghyun nodded.

“We could change area, I guess; at least find someplace with good access to the city.” Jiyong’s small face looked hopeful, a lovely expression. And yet… “There’s something else?” encouraged Seunghyun. Jiyong bit his lip, and for pretty much the first time ever seemed to be struggling for words. “Don’t be scared,” the older man urged him.

“But I _am_ ,” said Jiyong all of a sudden. “That if we move to the country – transport links or not – we won’t be able to live honestly.”

“Eh?” Seunghyun frowned. Was Jiyong still talking about finding work? “What d’you mean, exactly?” Jiyong sat up and fixed him with a solemn look.

“What’ll we be, if we set up house together? Roommates? ‘Friends’? What’ll you tell people – your clients, your acquaintances?”

“I won’t tell ‘em anything – it’s none of their business!” announced Seunghyun, an unpleasant sensation clutching at his stomach.

“And what about your family?” Jiyong’s voice was soft as usual; but now it contained a note of challenge. Ah. That was the clincher, wasn’t it?

“I don’t know,” admitted Seunghyun at last. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“You haven’t wanted to.” Jiyong looked so terribly understanding. The older man didn’t know what to say. No, he hadn’t thought about it – he supposed he’d been afraid to. It had crossed his mind, of course, when he’d gone home for Christmas and got reacquainted with his childhood home: his parents, his brother with his fiancée getting ready to take the reins. That world. He’d always loved it, the place and the people; it suited him. But picturing the two of _them_ in it… Seunghyun pressed his lips together. What ought he to say to Jiyong? That the mere thought of telling his parents Jiyong was his lover sent waves of panic down his spine? That he didn’t know how he’d cope with their disgust? No. If he said as much to Jiyong, who’d left home at eighteen rather than toe his father’s line, he’d look like the world’s biggest coward. Jiyong looked as if he knew it anyway – knew, and was unsurprised but bitterly disappointed. Seunghyun gritted his teeth and made himself look at his partner properly. To his astonishment Jiyong’s expression softened. The boy took a deep breath.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, his sweet smile tinged with anxiety but irrepressible. “There. I’ve wanted to say that for ages – good a time now as any! Whatever happens, I do.” Seunghyun gaped at him, felt the painful grip on his stomach wash away as something else suffused him, something that almost made him tremble. He knew what it was, though it wasn’t a feeling he was used to: it was joy.

“ _Jiyong_ ,” he breathed, and knew he was glowing by the answering brightness on the smaller man’s face.

“You don’t have to say it,” Jiyong assured him with a breath of laughter. “I know you, you old fuddy-duddy.” Seunghyun shook his head.

“Of course I’m in love with you!” He felt giddy just saying it, but it was a wonderful kind of vertigo. Jiyong made an odd little noise, then flung both arms around him. Seunghyun returned the embrace, held him tight, tight enough to feel his heart racing. Jiyong was laughing softly against his neck, and in that moment the both of them forgot what they’d been talking about and what would have to be discussed again – everything but their mutual delight.

* * *

The summer months went by in a fever of exams and art projects, and countless plans thought up by both of them but left unvoiced. There was hardly time to discuss what was about to happen as Seunghyun’s graduation drifted closer; Jiyong tried, occasionally, but even when Seunghyun wasn’t too busy to sit down and discuss the future, he _couldn’t_ : he was too afraid. Whatever decision he made, Seunghyun knew, he’d end up hurting someone. He knew he was hurting Jiyong now; Jiyong didn’t bawl him out, though, just threw himself into his painting and his weed. At night Seunghyun held him hard and reflected that if worse came to worst Jiyong would still have something to hold onto: his love of art, his scholarship and community here.

“You wouldn’t…leave, would you?” asked Seunghyun urgently. They were sitting in the grass in one of the farmers’ fields near campus – Seunghyun had been to give the kids’ pony a tetanus shot – and Jiyong was cross-legged beside him. Rather than looking at him Jiyong was staring off into the distance at the hazy blue sky, and so Seunghyun had the chance to observe him: that glint in his eye, what was it? The old wanderlust, or a more personal dissatisfaction?

“…Leave?” echoed Jiyong a minute later.

“You wouldn’t throw away your scholarship just to follow me,” the older man clarified. “Or…for whatever other reason. Right?” Jiyong shrugged.

“How can I know what I’ll do from one day to the next?” His gaze slid to his lover, then back to the horizon. “ _You_ don’t seem to.” Seunghyun felt the rebuke – and deserved it. Just a week until graduation and he’d made no decisions. He’d been applying for jobs all over the state; yes, at home, too. If Jiyong knew there was still a fair chance he’d return to Fallsburg and his parents, thought Seunghyun in dismay, he might do anything; and if he disappeared now it wouldn’t only break Seunghyun’s heart, it’d ruin Jiyong’s prospects too.

“Professor McShay wouldn’t like it,” he pointed out: the art teacher had taken Jiyong under his wing this year, and Jiyong (as far as Seunghyun knew) hadn’t slept with him. It had to be the first adult relationship Jiyong had ever conducted outside the bedroom, and Jiyong knew McShay’s opinion would have weight.

“He’d be bummed,” Jiyong agreed. Another glance. “And what would _you_ be?”

“If you quit and followed me?” clarified Seunghyun, frowning. “Or if you just…left?”

“Either. Both.” Seunghyun’s heart gave an uneven skip of panic at the mere thought of the latter. Almost reflexively his hand reached out to clasp Jiyong’s thigh, felt the tension in the boy’s muscles beneath the indolent gold.

“Well,” said Jiyong, a bleak little tremor in his voice, “if we don’t make a decision pretty soon, maybe you’re gonna find out.”

* * *

The day before his graduation Seunghyun found himself with two job offers – and still no decision. He’d promised Jiyong he’d tell him tomorrow at the latest, before the ceremony: the steady locum job outside Fallsburg or the trial position at a small-animal clinic in the suburbs near NYC? Right now Seunghyun wasn’t in love with the idea of either; the work in the city practice didn’t sound too exciting – he was raised to be a farm vet, to wrangle horses and cattle, not Afghan hounds and hamsters. But if he took the job near the family home he might end up losing so much more. It all came down, thought Seunghyun, to how much Jiyong might meet him halfway: could he be happy keeping their relationship on the down-low if he knew how much a countryside job meant to his lover? 

Right now he wasn’t confident of anything; Jiyong looked small and sad, and resigned already to an unpleasant outcome, even when Seunghyun invited him to the pre-party the veterinary students were throwing tonight. There’d be dancing, everyone was bringing a date; Seunghyun was already taking a huge step by being the only man (apparently) without one.

“I’ll come,” said Jiyong quietly, digging out his one ‘presentable’ outfit of slacks and shirt. “Your family’ll be at the ceremony tomorrow, right?” Seunghyun nodded in silence. “…Then it might be the last wild time we have together,” Jiyong added; he knew how much influence Seunghyun’s parents had on their dutiful son.

“Hardly wild,” said Seunghyun, wincing at his expression. “Not with our Department organizing it.” No grass, no blue movies, no absinthe. Dull – but maybe it’d give him time to _think_.

“S’pose not.” Jiyong sighed.

“Think of all the crazy times you can have next semester,” encouraged Seunghyun, though he hated to dwell on it himself. Whichever job he chose, he hoped Jiyong would continue at the university; but whether Seunghyun was far away in the sticks or living with his lover near the city and doing the obligatory new-boy night shifts, Jiyong was going to have plenty of opportunity to practice his chosen lifestyle.

“To be honest,” said Jiyong, awkwardly buttoning his cuffs, “when I think of it now…it palls.”

“Seriously? With how much you’ve spent the past two years lauding free love?” As soon as he said it Seunghyun wished he could retract it – his paranoia at work again. The last thing he wanted was to put _that_ idea back in Jiyong’s irresistibly pretty head. In the mirror he saw Jiyong’s lips droop briefly at the corners; then the younger man turned to him and began helping (or hindering) him with his necktie.

“The thing about free love,” Jiyong informed him softly, “is that it means you oughta sleep with whoever you like. Who you love.” He glanced up. “And all this year with you I have; and I’ve been _happy_.” Seunghyun swallowed and nodded. “…I’d like to try monogamy a bit longer,” Jiyong confessed. “If…you know.”

“If I make the right choice.”

“You have to make the right choice for _you_.” Jiyong brightened up and went to fetch Seunghyun’s jacket; it was time to leave. “And then I’ll decide what suits me.”

“…Please,” begged Jiyong three hours and many drinks later, “don’t go back home!” He was clinging tipsily to Seunghyun’s arm at their table, the dinner finished and the other students chatting and dancing and celebrating.

“It wouldn’t be so far,” said Seunghyun desperately. “Just a few hours’ drive. I could come visit and you could spend the summers on the farm again…”

“It’s not the same as living together! Not as a couple.” Seunghyun took his hand under the table. “This is what it’d be,” argued Jiyong, pulling his own hand back with a sniff. “Holding hands outta sight, fucking in the barn so your folks don’t find out, fielding questions about when you’re bringing home a wife – imagine a lifetime of that!” Seunghyun clenched his jaw at the thought: not only at how unpleasant he’d find it himself, but at what it would do to the free-spirited Jiyong.

“We could revisit it,” he suggested, knowing how lame and half-hearted that must sound. “After you graduate. It’d just be for a couple of years.”

“…A couple of years by myself half the time and lying the other half?” Jiyong said in a low voice.

“Ugh.” Seunghyun put his head in his hands; around them the other couples were laughing and dancing, as authentically themselves (even it they _were_ square selves) as they could be. “I don’t want you to lie.” He added the ‘darling’ so quietly he wasn’t sure if the smaller man heard it. “Just…bear with me.” He smiled weakly. “I’m not as evolved as you.” There was a pause as Benjamin and his girlfriend (who would become a fiancée on the morrow, Seunghyun happened to know) came to chat on their way from the dancefloor to the bar. Seunghyun hardly knew what he said himself, while Jiyong didn’t speak at all. What could the smaller man say to people like these? They were so much less… _real_ than him.

At last Benjamin moved along and Seunghyun exhaled with a tremor. He turned back to the only person who mattered right now.

“Stonewall was almost a year ago.” Jiyong’s soft voice had turned fierce, with a pleading hint that constricted Seunghyun’s heart. Seunghyun had heard of the protest, of course; he’d just never imagined it would touch _his_ life in such an urgent way. “They fought so hard for me – for _us_ – to be who we are. I don’t wanna waste that – I don’t want to hide!”

“...I know,” said Seunghyun, quieter. He didn’t want anyone else overhearing this painful moment, didn’t want them judging Jiyong the way almost the whole world would.

“I left home rather than deny it,” Jiyong reminded him at the same agitated volume. “And I _love_ you, I love you more than anything! But I can’t live in the closet. I…I _won’t_.” His chin went up, determined and quite lovely. And Seunghyun understood – that Jiyong didn’t _care_ about being judged, about social standing, and never would. And so the only question that remained was: what did Seunghyun care about? What could he live with – or, more importantly, what could he live without? Jiyong was staring at him helplessly; you couldn’t cage him. You _shouldn’t_ ; and Seunghyun knew that if he tried it would be the end of them. They’d make it work for a little while, perhaps, but after that Jiyong’s wanderlust would kick in, the same angry itch that’d been born when his father refused to acknowledge _who he was_. He wouldn’t be able to help himself if Seunghyun tried it too: one morning Seunghyun would wake up and he’d be gone.

“I gotta get another drink,” said Seunghyun in a rush; his heart was suddenly hammering so hard that he thought he might be having some kind of fit. He heaved in a breath and managed to add: “You want one?” Jiyong shook his head, looking understandably disappointed; Seunghyun left before he had to look at that expression another minute.

He staggered into the men’s bathroom, splashed cold water on his face and leaned on the sink, breathing heavily. No-one else seemed to think this was unusual, the place was full of inebriated graduates; he could hear someone throwing up in a cubicle. He stared at his reflection, forced himself to meet its eye. What should he _do_? Go home and take the locum post at Fallsburg? It was everything he’d wanted: family, the countryside, security, the life he knew. Or apply for the city job and look for a suburban apartment that would suit them both – a home for them both? There could be no certainty there: he knew nothing about city life – and if his folks found out about Jiyong he’d be banned from setting foot back home; at least ‘til Jiyong’s flyaway nature took hold and he flitted off to be artistic elsewhere. Seunghyun shuddered, splashed his face again, and tried to think: what could he live without?

By the time he wove his way back to where Jiyong was sitting he felt sick; maybe just from hanging out in the men’s room – maybe because of what he’d decided. Jiyong stood out as he did in any room, even though his pretty face was pale and worried. He looked very alone among the veterinary students and their girlfriends in their best frocks; but he was still the most beautiful thing in the room.

“Jiyong.” The smaller man looked up, his anxious expression deepening at the turbulence on Seunghyun’s own face. Seunghyun took a deep breath. “Come here.” He held out his hand. For a long moment Jiyong peered at it as if trying to figure out what it meant; then he took it, slender fingers curling around Seunghyun’s. “You’re right,” said Seunghyun, pulling him to his feet; he rose easily, light and strong and perfect as ever. “You shouldn’t have to hide.” Jiyong was clearly troubled, waiting and waiting for him to speak. Christ, it was hard to get it out, the hardest thing he’d ever had to do! But he had to – before tomorrow and family came and ruined his resolve.

“…Seunghyun?” ventured Jiyong hesitantly.

“I…I love you,” Seunghyun announced without lowering his voice. The hardest, and the _best_. A woman at the next table glanced round, then looked back, scandalized; but in front of his eyes Seunghyun saw Jiyong come alive. “I love you,” he said again, more firmly, tightening his grip on Jiyong’s hand. “I can’t live without you.” _There_ was the conclusion to his bathroom agonizing – in the end it was so simple. “So let’s do it: let’s go to New York. You can commute; and we’ll figure out the future from there. I’ll even join your protests, if it means having you with me.” Jiyong opened his mouth, gaped at him for a second, then burst into tears.

“I didn’t…think…you were gonna say that!” he managed between sniffles. More people were staring now. Seunghyun felt his hackles rise, but it was from a sense of protectiveness – not shame but defiance. He met their stares coldly, at the same time letting Jiyong get a grip on his arm. Perhaps this fierce feeling was a stage he needed to go through before he could attain Jiyong’s incredible zen, his ability to cheerfully let the rest of the world go fuck itself.

“You okay?” he asked gently, tamping down his anger at his goddamn rude colleagues. They didn’t matter: only Jiyong, who was beaming through his tears. The smaller man reached distractedly for a napkin from someone else’s table and loudly blew his nose. Almost in spite of himself, Seunghyun started grinning.

“…Not bad for a hick farmer!” sniffed Jiyong, smiling even wider.

“Come dance with me,” suggested Seunghyun in a fit of elation. Jiyong snorted inelegantly, but nodded. He clung to the older man’s arm and led him to the open floor where the band was playing some crooner’s tune from the Fifties. He tugged Seunghyun into the middle of the dancing couples, slipped both arms around his waist, and began to sway. Seunghyun, who wasn’t much of a mover, followed as best he could, quickly ruining the steps when he took Jiyong in a tight embrace and buried his face in his silky hair; he smelled like flowers, always and forever.

“Man, you’ve got two left feet,” he heard Jiyong murmur teasingly. He closed his eyes, ignoring the sea of shocked faces. Sooner or later he’d have to deal with them; but not for long. Soon he and Jiyong would be off on their own journey, plunging into New York’s vast ocean of humanity. They’d find their place, and even if they _were_ the oddest couple since the Odd Couple it would work – for as long as Jiyong could stand him. “…I wanna do this every day,” Jiyong was saying, as if in response to this thought. “I wanna dance with you in the grass. And in the ocean, and the woods, anywhere… But we oughta do it naked,” he appended, then laughed when Seunghyun poked him in the ribs.

“You bloody hippie,” said Seunghyun fondly.

“You made the choice.” Jiyong gazed up at him, still moving effortlessly between the other bodies on the dancefloor, and Seunghyun was happy to simply drink him in and let him lead. “Free love – now you just gotta live with it!” He drew the older man’s head down, hesitated as if to give him time to protest; then he kissed him. And oh, yes: Seunghyun could live with this. Always.

[ ](https://i.imgur.com/UNAByJa.png)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd meant to write this for ages but kept getting distracted halfway through. I'm glad I finally did, though.  
> If you enjoyed it let me know :)
> 
> A new period drama series coming next week...


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